


The Stiant Jag Beetle

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:32:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Finch gives Mòrag a present.





	The Stiant Jag Beetle

**Author's Note:**

> this is an idea i've had since valentine's day and i finally got around to writing it wow

Finch is missing. 

Sort of. That’s yet to be confirmed. _Missing_ could mean that Finch had wandered off the edge of the Gormotti Titan and plummeted into the Cloud Sea, or she had simply climbed up onto some rooftop in Torigoth for a nap. Any option on both ends of the scale seem about likely, so Mòrag isn’t sure whether she should be concerned or not.

In the end, Finch _is_ her Blade, so she does feel responsible for her well-being. 

Maybe she should go find Brighid and ask for her help.

But it turns out there would be no need to alarm anyone else with this issue that isn’t actually even a issue— Finch abruptly appears behind her as Mòrag is on her way to search the market, tugging on one of her coattails. Mòrag breathes out in relief and turns around, getting down on one knee to address Finch at eye-level. 

“Finch. Where have you been?”

“Umm… around, I guess!” 

That sounds about right. Mòrag sighs and pats her head. Finch’s face wrinkles up and she does an odd shivery motion with her whole body, ruffling her feathers out in delight. 

“Please, try to avoid wandering off alone. Ask one of us to accompany you next time,” Mòrag says, even though she knows that the reminder is a fruitless one. She makes a mental note to ask Adenine to keep an eye on her. 

“Okay-okay, I’ll remember.” Finch vigorously nods like a bobblehead. Then she stops, her sleepy eyes lighting up in an extremely rare moment of realization. “Ohh yeah, I remember! Yeah! I gotcha something for you, Margo!” 

“ _Mòrag._ ” She automatically corrects Finch. Like the reminder, it’s pointless. She’s entirely used to Finch constantly forgetting her own Driver’s name. “And, is that so? Is that why you had run off earlier?” 

“Yup!” Finch reveals the hand she’d been holding behind her back. “Ta-daaaa!” 

The biggest, ugliest Giant Stag Beetle she’d ever seen is slowly wriggling in Finch’s grasp. It’s… big. _Really_ big. Finch’s claws don’t even completely wrap around it. She proudly pushes it towards Mòrag. 

Mòrag recoils. 

“Finch,” she slowly says. “What on Alrest is _that._ ”

“A present! For you, duh!” Finch says in all earnestness, still trying to offer the beetle. “Cuz you’re always so nice to lil ol’ Finch, and you’re super cool when we fight together, and, annnnnd… uhhh…”

“Oh!” Again, Finch lights up with some sort of recollection. “Because Mongo is the _best_ Driver ever!” 

“ _Mòrag._ ”

But— well, how could Mòrag ever refuse after a heartfelt speech like that? Though her stomach curdles and she wants to smack that thing out of Finch’s hands and set it on fire, she gingerly takes the beetle from her, holding it like it really is on fire.

She wants to set it on fire. 

“Yup! Yup!” Finch nods in satisfaction once Mòrag finally accepts the gift. “So? You like it, Mahjong? Stiant Jag Beetles are super rare, ya know! This one’s a real beauty, too!”

That doesn’t seem like the correct name for it, but she supposes it doesn’t matter. Finch’s expertise on insects is very fleeting (as is everything else she knows), but she does have an odd talent of digging up unique ones frequently enough. Mòrag grimly smiles and nods. 

“Thank you, Finch. I’ll be sure to treasure it.” 

—

“Oh, Lady Mòrag, you’re ba _aaa—augh!!_ ” 

Brighid yells and takes a large leap backwards at the sight of that… monstrosity that’s slowly squirming in Mòrag’s hands. She holds her palms out defensively, drawing up a small wall of flames between them out of reflex. 

Mòrag looks down at the beetle. By now, she had somehow gotten over the bulk of her revulsion and is comfortably gripping it in both hands like how one would hold a small animal, like a Pippito or Phonex. 

The beetle slowly wriggles its many legs and clicks its pincers together. 

“Lady Mòrag! Hold still! I’ll incinerate it for you—“ 

“Wait, Brighid!” 

To her horror, Mòrag half-turns away, protectively shielding the beetle with her body from Brighid’s flames.

What. 

“Have you gone mad?!” 

“Certainly not!” She looks offended. Oh, then Mòrag is alright. 

As far as Brighid can tell, anyway. She keeps at a distance, though the inn room suddenly feels much too small, flames still flickering in a line at her feet— a warning to Mòrag, to _keep that thing away from her._

“It’s a gift from Finch,” Mòrag explains. “It would have been rude of me to refuse such a sincere gesture.” 

Why is Mòrag like this? Sometimes Brighid has to wonder. Not out loud, of course, but. 

“A gift from Finch,” she flatly repeats, crossing her arms. “That bird… child would have forgotten all about it by now. Why don’t you just throw it away?” 

_Or burn it into ashes._

“That would be _rude_ , Brighid.” 

Once again, Brighid reiterates that singular line of thought in her mind: _Why is Mòrag like this?_

“I cannot treat such a sentimental gift with disrespect!” Mòrag declares, holding the beetle up like it’s a trophy. It continues wriggling and clicking. “It’s… it’s a fine specimen, indeed! Perhaps I shall have it sent to Hardhaigh Palace to be properly taken care of!” 

Oh, no. She wants to keep it… as a pet? An Imperial pet. Brighid can’t allow this in good conscience. It’s both her duty as Mòrag’s Blade and beloved partner to put a halt these wild plans, lest this somehow come back to bite her in the future. What would people _say_ , if they found out that the Special Inquisitor is keeping a revolting insect? What would become of her fearsome reputation?

“Lady Mòrag, please reconsider. Stop, and _think._ ” 

“I did think, and I’ve made up my mind!” A pause. Foolishly, Brighid hopes for a moment that Mòrag has come to her senses, but no. Instead, the pause lengthens as Mòrag looks behind her, then at the beetle, avoiding eye contact with Brighid all the while. 

“… Where did Finch go? I must find her,” she mutters, hurrying out of the room and still clutching that damn beetle close to her chest.

Brighid decides not to go after her. 

—

Mòrag finds Finch just outside of Torigoth sitting in a large field of flowers. She doesn’t seem to be doing anything, just sleepily staring up at the Titan’s head as small bugs buzz around her. They disperse when Finch turns and waves to Mòrag. 

“Heya, my Driver! Watcha doing way out here?” 

“Well, I—“

“—Hold that thought! Hoooold it!” Finch gets up to her feet, slowly waving her arms in circles. She squints up at Mòrag, then her stare slides down to the beetle she still clutches. Accusingly, Finch points. 

“Are you gonna share that yummy-lookin’ snack or not?!” 

… Ah. She should have seen this coming. When Mòrag doesn’t respond for a few seconds, Finch strides up to her and extends her hands upwards, making grabbing motions at the beetle. 

“Gimme gimme!” 

Suddenly feeling rather deflated, Mòrag just sighs and hands the beetle off to Finch. She grimaces as she watches Finch gnaw at its tough shell; the beetle wriggles just a bit more vigorously in protest, but Finch has her claws thoroughly dug into its softer underside. 

It isn’t a very pretty sight. But then Finch stops trying to bite it and looks up at Mòrag with a big smile. 

“Tastes soooo gooood!” 

“… Does it really.”

“Yeah! I was actually lookin’ for one of these bad boys just now… I think! Stiant Jag Beetles taste the _best_ , don’tcha know?” 

Mòrag stops herself from slapping a hand to her forehead. Finch gave her the bug in the first place to _eat_ , not to keep as a specimen or pet. Not that the intention even matters anymore, but it does somewhat sting that Finch had completely forgotten what she had said earlier. 

“This is the best! Present! Ever! From the best Driver ever! Thanks a bunch, Morag!” 

And just like that, her mood stops plummeting. Finch resumes gnawing at the beetle as if she hadn’t just said something remarkable, and Mòrag sharply inhales and crouches down amongst the flowers. 

“That was very close. It’s _Mòrag._ ”

“Huh? Isn’t that what I said? Morag!” 

“You— … ah, never mind. Well done, Finch.” 

She fondly shakes her head and sits down. Finch immediately crawls onto her lap, comfortably settling in as she continues her efforts at breaking through the beetle’s carapace with her teeth, eyes closed in bliss as Mòrag pets her feathers.


End file.
